Right.  Well, since Nightelf was kind enough to send me that list 
of names, I was able to fill in the blanks (and write a quick follow-up 
as well.)

                SKJAM RevengeFic: A Call to Arms

     She examined herself in the mirror.
     It was still a shock to see herself like this, and she
suspected it would be for the rest of her life.  The strawberry-
blond hair was a surprise; she'd been expecting it to be red. 
Thicker and slightly longer than she was used to as well - she
liked to keep her hair short, and this was about an inch too much. 
Although, grown out to a proper length, she imagined that it'd
probably be quite attractive.  She shook her head.  _Not_ a
pleasant thought.  She traced one finger along a cheekbone, down
her chin, turning it this way and that.  The facial features were
softer, less angular - though she supposed that was to be expected. 
All in all, she had to admit, a rather pretty face.  She shuddered. 
Not an adjective she'd have ever thought to apply to herself...
     Stepping back, she looked over her whole body with a sort of
morbid curiosity.  Twisting slightly to the right, she watched her
profile in the mirror.  She ran a hand down one side, over curves
that felt... strange, that felt _wrong_.  Straightening, she
reached up and cupped her breasts, lifting them slightly, noticing
how her shirt fell differently, feeling the weight in her hands. 
Weird.
     With a shiver, she turned away in mild disgust.  The glass of
water was already ready, still steaming slightly.  A moment later,
hair (now returned to a light shade of brown) dripping wet, Mike
sat at his computer.
     "Damn you, Ranma..." he muttered.  "You've gone too far..."
     Logging on to his school account, he quickly checked his E-
Mail.  It was just as he expected.  Ranma, Akane - hell, a sizable
portion of the popular anime world - had been _very_ busy.  More
and more fanfic authors were getting hit.  And, thanks to Ranma, a
sizable portion of the male writers were getting splashed with
Nyannichuan.
     "That bloody spring's gotta be half-empty by now..." he said,
looking over the list of victims.
     Zen.
     Darren Steffler.
     Biles.
     What kind of punishment was it, anyway?  What did Ranma hope
to prove?
     Phillip Mak.
     WebDragon.
     Stanley Teriaca.
     There were so many of them.  All unwilling victims, punished
for the innocent act of writing a few simple fanfics.
     Ken Arromdee.
     Kevin Eav.
     Wing.  And for him, it was permanent!
     And everyday, the list kept growing.  Even the innocent
lurkers were being hit.  Everyday, a few more got splashed.  Sure,
a few were given a reprieve - like Nightelf, who had two weeks to
prove himself, and, sure, a few even enjoyed their condition... but
_something_ had to be done.  Writing fanfics used to be safe, used
to be a release.  But now, the road ran both ways.  For every
negative scene written, the author's had to live in fear of deadly
and/or embarrassing retribution.
     Something had to be done.
     But what?

***
               Mike climbed into bed with a sigh.  "Heh."  She thought wryly. 
"I finally get a good-looking girl into my bed, and it's me." 
Closing her eyes, she started to think.
     The curse, she could _almost_ forgive Ranma for.  Being female
wasn't all _that_ bad... the roommates had adjusted quickly, it'd
been fairly easy to keep secret, and the fact that she could bend
her arms back an extra few degrees at the elbow was kinda neat. 
But how could she possibly explain this to her parents?  To her
friends back home?  Swimming in Trout Lake would never be the
same...
     But she couldn't forgive him for the other stuff.  For the
sheer inconvenience, of not having clothes that fit her diminutive
frame, of having to borrow stuff from her roommate.  For the Power
Rangers, who had trashed her room before taking off.  For Kuno,
who'd tried for a week straight to date her, before leaving to hunt
down other prey (although, Mike had to admit, looking at the vase
of flowers on her desk, the red roses added a nice splash of colour
to the room.  And the free suppers at the Chateau Laurier had been
a bonus.  The kendo lessons had been great.  And, once you got past
the initial arrogance, Kuno really wasn't that bad of a
conversationalist - a bit wordy, but adept at verbal sparring with
Shakespearean quotes.  Good looking, too... Mike shuddered. 
Let's... not got there, she thought).  School was hard enough as it
was, without having to worry about unexpected gender changes.  And
this was Canada!  Once winter struck, it`d be nigh impossible to
step outside without changing!
     No.  I need a cure, Mike whispered to herself.  Somehow, I
need to get some nannichuan.  And I need the freedom to write what
I want, about who I want, without the fear of being 'punished'
again.  It's time to take the fight back to Nerima, back to Tokyo,
back to wherever the enemy lives.  I will _not_ be pushed around by
a bunch of imaginary animated characters!
     But I can't do this alone, she realised.  I'll need help.
     But who?
     And then she thought of the list.  All those people, cursed
like she was.  Most of them were probably burning to get their
revenge as well, itching to find a cure.  They could group
together, form some kind of Onna-Otaku Organization, and free the
ML from the tyranny of the oppressive anime dictators!  
     All she needed was to put out a call to arms, a call for
retribution!  She smiled as she drifted off to sleep.  Well, it
_could_ happen..

***

	I know everybody's name isn't in there... I got 'em on the 
follow-up (I hope).

	-Mike